Birthday Girl
by EquinoxCroll
Summary: For Angelina Weasley, birthdays were something she'd rather forget. But then George takes her at her word and decides to watch a Quidditch game with Lee instead of spending time with her. So what's a witch to do? She could spend her evening crouched over the accounts ... or perhaps she could crash her favourite haunt and see what transpires.


She had got to the age where she commiserated rather than celebrated birthdays, but then since she'd turned thirty, Angelina had stared into the mirror every morning and muttered, 'Not bad for nearly forty.'

These days she tried not to stare into the mirror too much, either, for although the grey hairs were sparse, there was always the chance she'd find another one, or else a new wrinkle would appear that couldn't be erased by slathering on more face cream.

"Morning, gorgeous," George would greet her when she emerged to face the day, and Angelina would always smile and reply, "Morning, ugly!"

It was something they did. It was their ritual. The wallpaper of their life.

The day before her birthday, she'd walked into the bedroom with just a towel around her head, and George hadn't even looked at her, just said the words whilst still filling in his crossword. Angelina hadn't replied, but George said nothing, merely frowning over a clue.

"What time shall we set out?" she asked and started to dress.

"Eleven-thirty," he replied. "That way we can grab lunch afterwards."

"Sure." She smiled at him, but he didn't see, so with a sigh, Angelina finished dressing and then dried her hair.

They were going shopping together. It wasn't something they often did, for Angelina usually liked to shop alone and George loathed shopping, but it was either shop together or buy her own birthday present, and that she didn't want to do.

"There are three options," George had told her, two days ago when they were lying in bed. "You can leave it all to me, in which case you risk my shocking taste. You can tell me the sort of thing you want. Or you can come with me and choose."

Angelina tried not to scowl. She'd already said she wanted earrings. What she really wanted was for George to surprise her, but knowing his aversion to buying gifts, she'd come out with a suggestion - earrings, diamond drops. He'd agreed - money not being an issue as the shop in Diagon Alley and the second in Hogsmeade were flourishing - and so she'd relaxed. Earrings, how hard could that be for him?

Evidently, it was very hard because when she'd said, 'I'll leave it up to you, darling', George had pulled a face and let out a heaving sigh.

"We could have lunch as well," he'd murmured, and snuggled up to her. "Verity can handle the shop for the day."

And so, with the thought of a decent lunch, perhaps with a shared bottle of wine, or a glass of bubbly, Angelina agreed.

* * *

Shopping had been easy, once they'd discovered _Bedazzled Gems_ on the corner where Diagon met Knockturn. Run by Susan Bones, who had a flair for unusual designs, Angelina hadn't been sure when they looked through windows, bedecked with origami swans, but Susan also kept a range of classic earrings and when Angelina saw the elongated oval white gold earrings set with a small diamond, she knew they were the pair.

"They're not very colourful," George murmured, steering her across to the emeralds and rubies. "Don't you think they're a bit dull?"

"They're what I want," she said. "And they're cheaper."

George raised his eyebrows. "That is not the issue. If you'd rather have the rubies, then -"

"I want these." She didn't remind him that he'd bought her rubies once before - a long time ago on their first wedding anniversary - and that they were practically identical to the ones Susan was now showing him. In those days, he hadn't seemed to mind shopping and had enjoyed surprising her.

"You're the boss, gorgeous," George replied, and handed over the money, causing Susan's face to gleam with pleasure.

Nestling the earrings in a small dark gold velvet box, Susan wrapped it in lilac tissue paper, then placed the box carefully in a crisp white bag, letting the paper overlap the sides like a flower. She hooked a gold ribbon through two holes in the top of the bag and tied a bow, tweaking the loops until she was satisfied.

"I'm not sure I can unwrap them now," Angelina said, giggling. "This looks so pretty."

"You can't open until tomorrow, anyway," George declared as he took the bag from Susan.

"Where are we going for lunch?" she said, beaming as they walked out of the shop hand-in-hand.

"I'm not that hungry," George said, "so how about the Leaky for a drink and a bar snack?"

Okay, so not quite the long lazy afternoon she'd had in mind, but forcing George to a restaurant when he clearly wasn't hungry was not a good idea, that much she knew from experience.

"The Leaky it is, but you're buying, Weasley, and mine is a gin and tonic."

"We had a letter from Roxanne this morning," Angelina said as they waited for their drinks. "Did you see it?"

"Nope. What did she say?"

"The usual. She's moaning because she wants to be on the team, but James hasn't asked for the first year rule to be relaxed," Angelina replied. "She also mentioned a detention."

George laughed. "What's that, her fifth?"

"Something like that. I swear that girl is trying to outdo you."

Snorting as he handed the barmaid two Galleons and waited for change, George said, "Well, as she can't emulate her mother and be a legend on the Quidditch pitch, yet, it's only natural she'd try to live up to her Weasley heritage. Did she say what it was for?"

"Something about a levitating toilet seat," she replied. "Don't you dare say 'that's my girl.'"

"What can I say?" George said, grinning. "It's in her blood."

They shared a platter of meats and cheese on slices of home baked bread, enjoying each other's company and talking about trivial things. Unimportant nonsense that made both of them giggle.

"I might meet Lee for a pint, later," George remarked. "Not a problem, is it?"

Angelina shook her head. "S'fine. Give him my best. I'll make a start on the books, save me doing anything tomorrow."

"Tomorrow?" He raised one eyebrow mockingly. "And what is so special about tomorrow?"

"Ha ha, Weasley. I am not doing anything tomorrow. If I have to celebrate being another bloody year older, then you can at least make it worth my while. I would like breakfast in bed and ... hmm ... you can cook tomorrow night."

"Cook..." Suddenly he looked shifty. George licked his lips. "Thing is, honey, Lee's got tickets for the Wasps game - good ones, too, so ... uh -"

"But-" the faint protest died on her lips. She always said she hated birthdays. She hadn't wanted a fuss, or a party or anything special, so did she have a right to complain?

"Don't mind, do you? I'll Apparate back as soon as it's over. We can celebrate then."

"Why should I mind?" she murmured.

But George didn't hear the irony.

* * *

She was staring at the fire when the flames flickered and danced. Blinking slightly, Angelina grinned then gasped when not one but two heads appeared in the fire.

"Rox, I'm too cramped. You can have your turn in a minute," complained Fred.

"We might not have a minute!" Roxanne argued, then turned her beaming face to Angelina. "Hi Mum, are you having a lovely birthday?"

"It's wonderful, sweetheart," laughed Angelina. "Thank you very much for the Honeydukes' chocolates. Well, thank you for not eating them all."

Through the flames, Angelina thought her daughter looked shamefaced; certainly, Fred was frowning at her.

"Your present was lovely, too, Fred," she said, blowing him a kiss.

"That is the perfume you wear, isn't it?"

She nodded. "Very clever of you to remember. Now, how about you tell me whose Floo you're using?"

"Um ..." Fred and Roxanne exchanged looks. "It's Professor Longbottom's," Fred said finally. "We don't have long but he's talking to the headmistress, so we ... um ... took the opportunity."

Angelina felt a warm glow inside her and smiled at both of them. "Thank you so much, but I think you should get back to Gryffindor before you get another detention."

Roxy, after flashing her another smile, disappeared from the hearth, leaving only Fred.

"You, too, sweetheart."

"Mum, where's Dad?"

The question abruptly stopped her smile. "Gone to the Wasps game. They're playing Kenmare in the Cup," she said.

"So you're alone?"

"No," she lied, hoping she didn't sound flustered. "I'm meeting Alicia later for a drink."

Fred smiled, and she could see, even in the flames, that he'd relaxed. "Have a great evening, Mum, love you."

"Love you, too, darling," she replied, smiling back.

It was only when his face disappeared and the flames had died down that Angelina let her smile falter.

She was alone. On her birthday. And although she generally didn't give a flying fuck about the day, spending it with no company whatsoever was possibly the most miserable thing she could imagine. She could wait for George, but the fact was that the Quidditch could go on for days, and he'd probably return tired, drunk, and dragging Lee with him.

"Sod it!" she said out loud. "I'm not sitting in this bloody room alone any longer."

Stomping upstairs to her bedroom, she tore off her comfortable sweatshirt and sagging joggers and started to dress - with care - into a close fitting pair of jeans, a vaguely new purple t-shirt, and a knee length pair of lace up black boots. Then Angelina left her house in search of some fun.

* * *

There was a pub she used to visit in her playing days for the Appleby Arrows that she'd always loved. Run by a Muggle-born couple, the Falcon's Nest in Falmouth was the local of many Quidditch players who lived in the area, but was also popular with the Muggles in the town. The only stipulation for wizards and witches was that they should be 'discreet', which Angelina didn't mind at all. With her wand poked inside her right boot and her cloak held unobtrusively over her arm, Angelina sauntered into the pub and scanned the room, wondering if any of her old Quidditch playing friends were there. Her eyes rested on one person. He was sitting with a crowd but didn't appear to be with them, exactly.

But then Oliver Wood had never seemed to fit into the social melee.

As if drawn by her gaze, Oliver looked up. Their eyes locked and then he smiled - not a broad beaming smile like George's, but a soft, welcoming smile.

"Angelina Weasley," he said as he approached. "What are you doing here?"

"I fancied a drink amongst friends. Although I don't recognise many people here."

"No George, tonight?" Oliver queried.

She shook her head. "He's gone to the Wasps game. That won't stop you buying me a drink, will it?"

Oliver shook his head. "Never. You were, after all, my favourite Chaser."

"Were," she teased. "I'm insulted, Oliver."

"Still are," he said gallantly. "I only wish you were still playing, so I could lure you to Puddlemere."

"You are too kind," Angelina said and accepted his arm as he led her to a smaller table for two. "But I doubt I'd get in your team these days."

Ordering a small carafe of Chablis, Oliver poured her a glass then one for himself.

"So," Oliver said, as he placed the drink in front of her, "not that I'm complaining, but why are you here?"

"Fancied a drink and I'm getting bloody bored with drinking alone," Angelina muttered.

"Drinking mid-week?" Oliver didn't sound disapproving but there was definite surprise in his voice.

Angelina smiled sardonically and lifted the glass to her lips, savouring the freshness of the wine. "It's my birthday," she stated. "And spending it pouring over double entry book-keeping seems _wrong. _"

"Very wrong," Oliver agreed. "Mind you, I spent my last birthday on the training pitch, so what do I know?"

"You're obsessed, though," she countered. "Whereas I'm..." She trailed off, wondering what to say. "I'm not sure what I am anymore, Oliver."

He looked startled and uncomfortable, so she took a slug of her drink and fixed a smile on her face. "Didn't think I'd see you here - certainly not midweek," she said, mocking him for earlier.

He shrugged but looked a lot happier at the change of subject. "It's also Arnie Sedgewick's birthday - Puddlemere's new Chaser. As captain, I had to stand a round."

"Do you need to get back to them?" she said, unwilling to let him go, but not wanting him to stay here if he would rather be elsewhere.

Oliver shook his head. "I bought a couple of rounds, but they'll be glad to see the back of me now. They need the chance to bitch about their captain. " He leant back in his chair and stretched. "Plus, I'm too old."

Angelina studied him, peeping under her lashes. "You haven't changed much from school, Oliver. A few grey hairs and one or two lines etched in your face, but there's not much difference from that fifteen year old boy who was my first captain." She paused. "And my best."

He flushed. "Even when I was shouting at you?"

"You had to shout, or George and Fred would have run amok," she countered. "And we'd never have won the Cup."

He sighed and tipped back in his chair. "I remember that game so vividly. And still feel excited when I think about holding that cup, grasping it in my hands and not wanting to let it go. Bit sad, don't you think?"

"Not at all," she replied. "It was your first success, Oliver. _Our_ first success, and ..."She smiled ruefully, not quite meeting his eyes. "It's like love, isn't it?"

"Hmm?"

"You never forget your first," she murmured and buried herself in her glass.

There was a silence. Angelina was aware of Oliver watching her, but she looked aware, scared now she'd said far too much. Then she snorted; Hogwarts was an age away, another life, and feelings from those days were silly girlhood dreams.

"If you knew the crush I had on you when we were playing," she said, grinning.

Oliver stared at her, looking gobsmacked, then refilled her glass. "Should you be admitting this?"

Picking up her glass, she swirled her drink, watching the pale liquid rimming the glass. "My crush died in the fifth year, Wood. You can stop looking so uncomfortable. But when I was thirteen, I thought you were my ideal man."

He clutched his chest. "What did I do wrong?"

"Nothing, but Professor Lupin appeared," she said, sighing.

"No competition, then," he said, and smiled at her. "Shame though, because if I'd known ..."

Angelina stared at him, stared into the soft brown eyes that seemed at odds with the obsessed man she knew. They'd become closer after the Battle when she was taking her first few flights as a pro, but nothing more than the odd lunch or a quick drink had ever happened between them. Oliver, now, was a firm family friend - especially with Roxanne who hero-worshipped the Puddlemere Keeper.

"If you'd known?" she murmured.

He gazed back and one hand reached across to the centre of the table, halting just before it met hers. "Perhaps if I hadn't been so obsessed with winning at school, then things would have been different," he muttered. "I might have had time for a _proper_ love life, for one thing."

"If we'd been distracted at school, I doubt either of us would have played professionally," she said.

"True." Oliver lifted the wine to his lips and took a sip; she noticed idly that he was barely halfway down his first glass. Then he placed his drink back on the coaster and stared at her. "I often wonder if Quidditch has ruined me, but I can't see another way to live."

She didn't ask why, or tell him he was being stupid because he was an international and had made his fortune in the game. Instead, Angelina nodded her head sagely. "There are times when I physically ache to play another match, you know."

"The curtailment of your career was a tragedy," he sympathised.

Smiling ruefully, Angelina took another slug of her drink. "Life has its compensations. It's not all black after Quidditch has gone, you know."

"Black I could cope with," Oliver replied. "It's the grey I'd find hard to settle for."

"You need the love of a good woman," she said sagely, then smiled. "Or perhaps I should say man."

Running his finger across the rim of his glass, Oliver peered at her lazily. "All the good women are taken."

"And the men?" she asked. She could feel a faint fluttering in her chest and wondered wretchedly how he had the power to affect her like this so many years after she'd been a silly schoolgirl with a crush.

"Long gone and never again," he murmured. Then he straightened up. "I won't have much more, but would you like another carafe?"

Angelina thought about it. She thought about her empty house, the kids at Hogwarts and George no doubt getting drunk with Lee as they watched the match.

She thought about the accounts, and the shop, and being alone when she could be having fun.

And then she thought about the girl she'd once been, the girl who'd roared through life with emphasis. Her promise leading not just to star potential, but also to full blown glory for England until being felled by a mis-timed Bludger.

"That would be fabulous, Oliver."

They drank companionably, laughing as they reminisced, not over school days, but the matches they'd played against each other when she'd been a Chaser for Appleby firing Quaffles against him. And as they talked, she found herself forgetting the shop, and the books, and the fact that she'd left the washing-up, because this was Angelina Johnson - not Weasley - having a life.

"Your team are watching you," she said, giggling. "They must be wondering who on earth you're with."

"They know very well," Oliver explained. "You're still talked about, Johnson."

"I've been Weasley for the last fourteen years," she said, and sighed - just a little.

"You're still a legend, Angelina." Oliver tipped some more wine in her glass, then drained the rest into his own.

_Legend_ - George had called her that yesterday. "Legends are myths," she muttered more to herself than Oliver. "I thought you didn't drink much."

"I don't usually," Oliver was saying, "but if you'd like something else after that glass -"

Her hand strayed to the side of her face, fingers coming into contact with one of her earrings. She shook her head. "I think I've had a bit too much and should probably be making a move, just in case the game does end early."

"George won't object to you being out, will he?"

Shaking her head, then stopping because it did nothing to ease the light-headedness in her brain, Angelina smiled slightly. "He won't mind at all. Perhaps that's the problem. Maybe he should mind about his wife going out by herself and drinking with a handsome man." She clapped her hand over her mouth. "Ooops, I probably shouldn't have said that."

"Perhaps you _have_ had a drop too much because it's clearly affected your eyesight," Oliver said wryly. "I was never 'handsome' and I don't think the years away from Hogwarts have changed that."

"You just don't know how to take a compliment which is really very, very sad." She sighed and pouted at him. "And it's not very gallant of you to point out that I'm drunk, when actually I'm merely ..." She scratched around for the word ... "'Merry', or to remind me that we're not teenagers anymore. And you _are_ handsome, Mr Wood. I always thought so."

"I'm battered and burley with a nose broken so many times I drink Skele-Gro for breakfast," he said.

She tilted her head to one side. "Actually, you're more 'rugged', especially with that crooked nose. And although I probably shouldn't say this, I'm going to; you're a very attractive man, Oliver. You really shouldn't have any trouble finding someone, you know."

Oliver laughed, sounding rather nervous and took a long sip of his drink, but his eyes didn't leave her face. "As I said," he murmured, "all the good ones are taken." He paused and finished his glass. "Would you like one more?"

She ran her hands through her hair, brushing some strands off her face, her fingertips again touching her earrings. "Thank you, but I should be getting home," she replied.

"Perhaps that's for the best," she thought she heard him say, but couldn't be sure.

Oliver Wood, a crush, a lost regret, someone she adored and respected, someone she still ... hell ... she hated to admit it but she still fancied him, even after all these years.

But fancying him was one thing. Love was something else.

She walked away.

As she reached the outside, Angelina pulled out her wand from the right boot and prepared to Apparate. A hand tugged at her.

"No, not so fast!" Oliver exclaimed. "Merlin, Angelina, you'll Splinch yourself."

"I need to get home," she muttered, not looking at him because she was sure if she did she'd do something she'd regret.

"Side-Along, then?" he offered.

She could hardly refuse, not given the amount of wine she'd supped that evening, so she nodded and let him grasp her by the waist. They whirred through the air; she could feel her lungs constricting and the blood pounding through her veins, throbbing her pulse.

"You okay?" he asked solicitously as they landed on the pavement outside her house.

"I'm not Splinched, if that's what you mean," she replied quietly, extracting herself from his grasp. "Thank you for getting me home."

In the pub, relaxing over a few drinks, he'd been warm, smiling, but now he was distant and patently couldn't wait to leave.

"Sorry," she mumbled.

"What for?" He _sounded_ surprised.

"Being too incapable and dragging you out here when you'd clearly be elsewhere."

"Where I'd like to be, and where I should be are incompatible," he murmured.

"Would you like to come in for coffee?"she asked, unsure which answer she wanted to hear.

"Yes," he said simply. "But I won't."

She took a step towards him meaning to give him a peck on the cheek - the normal social goodbye between friends who happened to be of the opposite sex. But as she leant forwards, she felt suddenly awkward, as if this gesture was wrong because something tangible had changed between them. As she hesitated, Oliver reached out and took her hand.

"Take care, he said, squeezing her fingers. And then he raised her hand to his lips. "George is a very lucky man."

As she walked to the door, she turned back to find he was still watching her. She raised her hand; he smiled back. It was a smile of infinite promise, but also heartbreak. A smile that could wreck so many lives without wanting to. They were friends, good friends, and that was important. He mattered, but couldn't be anything more.

She saw him turn, and as he Disapparated, she watched the air whirr into nothingness and felt a void where mere minutes before she'd been warm.

But also relief.

* * *

There was no need to let herself into the empty house quietly, and yet she did. Shrugging off her cloak, Angelina sat on the stairs and started to unlace her boots, but there was something wrong with the laces - or her fingers, or the boots themselves, and she gave up half way down the first one.

"Sod it, I'll deal with them later," she muttered, and staggered her way to the lounge.

The light was on.

"Evening, gorgeous." George was sitting on the sofa, quill in his hand and the book of accounts in front of him. He looked tired, but still gave her a warm smile.

"Match ended early, did it?" she said, trying to sound cold but aware she sounded sulky.

"Still going on, as far as I know," he replied. Then, pushing the book to the floor, he patted the space next to him.

"So why are you here?" she said, not moving.

"Because I realised that I should be with my wife on her birthday," he explained and held out his hand to her.

She allowed herself to be pulled down next to him, but evaded his mouth when he tried to kiss her. "That's very sweet, but I really don't mind if you want to go back. It's a cup game, and I know how much you want to see it."

"Too late. I gave the ticket to Ron." He touched his lips to her cheek, his eyes smiling into hers. "Some things are more important."

She kissed him, cupping his face in her hands, and glorying in the feel of his lips on hers.

"Where did you get to?" he asked.

"Falcon's Nest," she replied. "Oliver was there and I guilted him into buying me a birthday drink... or three."

"Good for you." George grinned at her. "How is the old bastard?"

"Uhm, feeling his age and lonely, I think," she said, deliberately sounding vague. "I know I thought my world had ended when I was invalided out of the game, but I do know how lucky I am, you know."

"I'm the lucky one," he whispered. "Now, you still have an hour left of your birthday so your wish is my command, milady."

She thought about it as she snuggled into his chest. "There is one thing," she said at last, letting her hand drift downwards and turning into him. "But you'll have to do me a huge favour first."

"Anything, gorgeous," he muttered, and started to groan.

Angelina giggled and removed her hand. "Take off my bloody boots for me, will you, ugly?"

As he complied, using his teeth to undo the knots and growling at her, she smiled at him, marvelling that he still had the power to surprise her after all these years.

"I do love you," she murmured, reaching across to tousle his hair, letting her palm drift to his mangled non-ear.

"I know," he replied.

He knew the black, white and grey of her and was still here despite all that.

Or maybe it was because of all that? The drama and tedium contrasting, giving relief and measured release.

She didn't know, but as George pulled off her second boot and slid his hands up her thighs, before pressing his lips on her stomach, she wasn't sure it mattered.

Sometimes it wasn't the big events in life that provided the glue.

It wasn't the children. It wasn't the rings on their fingers, or the shared Gringotts' account, and it wasn't even the past they shared that bonded them.

It was moments like _this_ that stopped them unravelling.


End file.
